


Hey Bartender

by tiniest_hands_in_all_the_land



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alcohol, Bar Fight, Blood and Injury, Drunken Shenanigans, Explicit Language, Fluff, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Spot the Silent Hill reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniest_hands_in_all_the_land/pseuds/tiniest_hands_in_all_the_land
Summary: While working his weekend job at the local Tuefort bar, Demoman receives an unexpected visitor. Mostly one-sided DemoMedic fluff





	Hey Bartender

The bell jingled as the door was pushed open. In moments, the smells of freshly poured alcohol and a musky crowd wafted through the Demoman's nostrils. He took a deep breath in, taking in the familiar scent with ease. The bar was raving tonight, he noticed. Even before he started his shift, the crowd was quickly and steadily simmering in.

The Scot moved into his work site, waving hello to a few customers he recognized as regulars, and hastily moved into the back to change into his work clothes. In a matter of minutes, he took his position behind the bar table and greeted the people taking residence on the stools on the other side. “How're you folks doing?” Demo greeted as he set to work. A couple fellows—James and Harry, as he found their names to be—nodded back in reply.

“Oh, you know, about as good as we can be,” James replied, before sighing. “Mary's still in the hospital.”

The bartender frowned at the news. From his position in the bar, he was subjected to many sob stories from those who found it comforting to talk about their troubles to someone who didn't mind listening, as they drank their problems away. In the weekends that he saw the two friends, he had learned that James's wife was slowly dying from a terminal illness, and that the man came here whenever he needed to get away from the stress, as countless others did. Harry, he learned, was his ride to and from the bar, as well as his emotional support. He controlled his friend from getting too wasted. 

Demo grabbed a couple coasters from below the counter and set one in front of each man. “Oh, that's a shame. I'm sorry to hear that,” he lamented. “Could I get ya a drink to lift your spirits?”

Harry nodded, and patted James on the shoulder. “A couple scotches,” he ordered. With a small smile and a quick nod, Demo set about his task. As he poured the two drinks, he opened his ears to his surroundings. Many groups were scattered throughout the bar: about half of them were the tired, middle-aged men drinking their worries away, the rest consisting of mostly rowdy twenty-something-year-olds trying to get their partners drunk for the night or simply just having a fun time with their friends. A particularly loud crowd filled the night air with laughter that seemed to rattle the bottles on the shelves and drown out the scratchy, withered radio.

The rowdy crowd reminded him a little too much of his own home base. An argument had yet to break out from what Demo could see, but there was always the tension of the possibility. He found himself hoping for that not to be the case. The previous week of staying with his mates had drained him; from losing four out of the five matches they fought, to the arguments and fights that sprung out afterwards, Demo wasn't particularly fond of the idea of having to witness more of the same hostile environment.

The door bell jingled, alerting of another customer. Out of the what peripheral vision he had, Demo could see the new lone buyer walk in briskly, shrug off his coat, and take a seat right in front of him. After setting the two drinks in front of the men he had just been serving, he turned his attention to the newcomer.

“Salutations,” he greeted, grabbing a new glass and a hand towel to wipe it off with. “What can I do you for—” His own gasp cut him off.

He knew the regulars here like the back of his hand. The sorry sacks that spent more time drinking their lives away in a bar than at home, he had long since made himself familiar with over the weekends. The man who just sat himself down in front of the bartender, he knew, was not a regular.

“Doc?!”

“Good evening, Tavish!” The Medic chirped in greeting. Demo stared on in exasperation, stunned at the fact that one of his teammates had found him outside of work. And the Medic seemed to relish in the shocked look on his face, making himself more comfortable on the bar stool by leaning forward on his elbows and folding his hands together in front of him. He smiled that ridiculously wide grin of his – one that, from an onlooker's perspective, seemed like a normal, albeit somewhat evil and creepy smile, but those who knew him knew the mischief brewing up behind it. “So this is where you've been hiding out all these weekends.”

Demo shook his head to clear it of shock. “Doc, what're you doing here?” he questioned. Medic feigned a gasp of offense.

“I'm not allowed to visit my dear colleague outside of work?” the doctor replied, fake disappointment hanging off his every word. He held a hand to his chest to add more to his gesture.

“Th-that's not what I meant,” Demo grimaced. “How'd you even find me?”

“I followed you here.” There went that smile again. He showed little guilt about his invasion of his ally's privacy. “It's a bit funny how you spend so much time on the field drinking booze, and then away from the war, you're serving it instead.”

The German allowed himself a small chuckle, and Demo just scoffed and rolled his eye. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you old coot,” he grumbled. “You gonna get something, or am I just gonna waste all my time just talking with you?”

Medic collected himself upon hearing the question, then pushed his glasses up his face and leaned forward again. He flashed a small grin, and inhaled a small intake of breath. “As pleasant as the latter option sounds, I think I will get something.”

“Very well. And what'll that be?”

“Hmm... Surprise me.”

Demo chuckled. Upon hearing those words, he knew exactly what to serve the German doctor. “Alright, Doc – but I gotta warn you – what I'm giving you's a strong little tyke.”

He knew Medic could handle it. The doctor, while not an especially heavy drinker such as his own self, could hold his alcohol relatively well. Or, at least, he could hold it better than some of the weaker intakers like Scout, Pyro, and, surprisingly, Spy. Demo recalled a time years back when Medic had taken part in the Oktoberfest event, and had invited all of the team to join him. Pyro had gotten tipsy from just one drink, and Spy had spent more time in the bathroom than with the others. Scout, who boasted about finally being the legal age to drink, passed out just after a couple glasses. The doctor himself happily drank and outlasted at least half of the team, until he fell into unconsciousness as well. The memory caused a smile to tug on the Scotsman's lips.

Medic might or might not have been sharing that same memory in his head, from the way a similar smile was cracking his face. To clear it up, he just chuckled. “Oh please, if I wanted something light, I would have just stayed in the base and took some of Solly's beer,” he replied. Demo couldn't help but laugh – Soldier would have a hernia if he heard some non-American calling his alcohol weak. “I want something that'll impress me.”

“Aye, will do.”

And so he set to work. The different brands of alcohol mixed beautifully in the glass Demo poured them in. As he concocted his friend's drink, he occasionally snuck glances at him. Medic was out of his normal white coat, he noticed. Instead, he sported what he deemed as casual clothing: his beige vest, red tie, and collar shirt. His brown jacket hug from the back of the chair he sat at. The doctor was watching him intently, observing his drink mixing like he was watching a movie. And in minutes, Demoman was finished.

“Here ye go, one special,” the bartender announced as he placed the drink in front of Medic. The doctor beamed as he held up his glass.

“Well, let's see if your bartending skills are up to par,” he replied. Medic put the glass up to his lips and took a sip. His eyebrows rose slightly as he swallowed, then he took another, longer drink from the glass. Once half of his drink was gone, he lowered it from his mouth and gave a small nod of approval in Demo's direction. “Job well done: you impressed me.”

“Well, of course,” Demo retorted. “I don't call it me specialty for nothing.” He leaned in closer to the doctor, and cupped his hand to the side of his mouth in order to whisper, “And I don't give 'em out to just any random customer, either, but keep that under your hat.”

A smirk drew across Medic's lips. “Oh? So I'm the lucky one?” he questioned, quirking an eyebrow. He took another sip of his drink, eyes glued to his server.

“Aye, something like that.”

Satisfied with his answer, Medic put down the drink again and chortled. “ And um... what is it that makes me so... special, in your eye? I'm assuming this random act of kindness isn't just because you know me.”

“Heh, 'course not, Doc,” Demo laughed, casually trying to hide the fact that he had to think up the right way to word his answer. He did have a reason for giving Medic his most special treatment, but as long as they were both sober, he sure as hell wasn't going to tell him about it, especially in a roomful of rowdy drunkards. No, he'd have to settle for something a little more lackluster for now. “I just think you're a pretty swell fellow that I like to be around, even if you're crazier than a rabid bread monster.”

Medic laughed loudly—so loudly, that his voice carried throughout the entire bar. Demo could spot some people at the tables behind them turning in their chairs to see what was up, but paid them no mind. “That's a good one,” the doctor spoke between cackles. “I've had yet to hear that one.” Once Medic slowed his giggles to a stop, the bartender continued.

“I mean it, Doc. You're a bloody good man. Plus, you work so damn hard for the team all the time,” he said. “Thought it was the least I could do to take the edge off of all that stress.”

The previous smile that plagued the Medic's expression slowly morphed into something of slight shock and confusion. He took to idly tracing his index finger around the rim of his glass, and chuckled once. The laugh that escaped him was not one of glee or humor, but more of an uncertain tone. “What are you talking about? I'm not stressed. I mean, I only have to put up with you eight dummkopfs every day.” He gave that unsure laugh again and broke out in a wide, yet unconvincing smile to try and cement his bluffs.

“Aye, and that, and all the work ye do off'a the field would be enough to drive any man up the river,” Demo retorted. “Even old hags like you.”

A sigh escaped from the doctor's lips. “Oh alright, you got me.” He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “You idiots drive me insane,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. He let out a small chortle. “I've been meaning to follow you here for a while, now, but I never really had the time. But this week... Mein Gott, it's just been unbearable. Between Soldier's batshit ideas, Sniper and Spy's fighting... and Scout just being an ungrateful little scheisskerl.... I just had to get away for a little while, okay?”

“And your idea of getting away is following me to my job at a bar?”

“It seemed like a good enough option,” he argued. “There's alcohol, and... well, you're company hasn't pissed the ever-living daylights out of me yet...” Medic reached for the glass and drank down the rest in one gulp. He frowned deeply at the disappointingly small amount, and slumped his shoulders in resignation. Allowing himself to sit in a moment of silence and self pity, he forced himself to chuckle and smile. “Listen to me: a withered old doctor, spilling out his life secrets to his drunkard teammate who just so happens to also be a bartender. I really have gone off the deep end, haven't I?”

Demo sighed, and clasped his hand to Medic's forearm in a gesture of comfort. It was so strange to see the doctor like this. Normally he was very composed; he was very bottled up with his emotions, and he certainly didn't reveal any of his secrets to anybody. An instance flashed into Demo's mind from the previous year, where Medic had refused to heal anyone in battle and instead fight on the front lines, all because he felt unappreciated by his team. And because of his silence on the matter, they had to literally interrogate the bastard just to figure out what was bothering him so.

The fact that Medic was even talking to Demo as he was brought up two possibilities for his strange actions: either alcohol really loosened his lips, or he actually trusted Demo enough to talk to him about such information. And considering Medic only had one drink, as of yet...

“Not any deeper than you already are,” he finally lamented. Medic looked up at him with a small smile. “I think you're doing just fine.”

The doctor bobbed his head in casual acknowledgment, and readjusted his glasses on his nose. Then he pushed the empty glass away, towards the bartender. “Well, in that case, get me another drink.”

 

It didn't take too much to get Medic back to his old, peppy self again. Though there were many other customers in the bar to serve, Demoman always made time to chat with the doctor, or at least concoct another drink for him. Medic moved on to other types of alcohol as the night went on, both trying some of Demo's recommendations and just sticking to what beers he knew. And a couple of hours into the night, the doctor was noticeably tipsy.

“Oh, look at the time,” Medic pointed out, his speech slurring from the effects of his alcohol intake. He began to rise from his seat and grab the coat hanging from the back. “I think I better leave, now. It's getting rather late--”

“Nuh-ah-ah-ah!” Demo exclaimed. He held his hand in the air, suspended in Medic's direction as if reaching out to grab him. “Sit your arse back down right now. I'm driving you home.”

Medic paused in his movement to leave. He stared, stunned at the order he was given. “E-excuse me?” he gawked.

“You heard me. You're drunk off your arse, and their ain't no way I'm letting you drive home like that.”

“What? I am perfectly capable of driving on my own.”

Demo shook his head. Images of Medic's crazy driving and near-fatal crashing flashed in his mind. “Doc, you drive like a maniac on a normal day. I hate to imagine you on the road while you're shitfaced.”

Medic waved his hand dismissively and laughed. “Tavish, I will be fine,” he denounced.

All the bartender could do was roll his eye. “It ain't you I'm worried about. I just don't want you hitting some sorry civilian.”

He laughed again. The alcohol seemed to heighten his voice to a shrilling pitch. “And who in their right mind would be out on the streets at this hour?” he questioned.

“Someone not in their right mind. And I don't wanna take any chances.” Demo raised his eyebrows, and gave Medic a stern look – one that he hoped would convey the message, 'You know what the people of Teufort are like—morons,' without having to actually say it. “Now sit back down. My shift ends in an hour, twenty. We'll leave then.”

The doctor huffed in frustration. Demo knew he hated to be ordered around, but right now, he was doing it for the German's own good. Him driving was both a hazard to him and the people around him. The Scot had to do something to keep him off of the streets. Finally, Medic repositioned his jacket on the back of the chair and slumped back down.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Get me another beer.”

A sigh of relief escaped Demo's throat. He picked up a new glass and put it under the tap. As he poured the drink, he eyed the doctor expectantly. “You do know I'm not giving you these for free, right?” he asked.

“What?”

“The drinks ain't free, just 'cause I know you.”

Upon hearing that statement, Medic straightened up in his seat. One fist slammed onto the counter, the other pointing accusingly at the bartender. His face was flushed with drunken anger. “Excuse me?! I'll have you know that I am the reason that you and the rest of the schweinhunds at home are still alive. I am the reason why we win at all! Do you even knew what I do for you? What I do for the team? I have to put up with you dummkopfs screaming and hollering about some little broken bone or missing limb, twenty-four seven. And if that's not enough, I don't even get a thank you in return! Dealing with that, and all the mountains of paperwork I have to spend my evenings filling out just to assure the higher-ups that you are all doing your jobs marginally and aren't dying from some horrible, disease related death? You all would be helpless without me! And I think I deserve a bit of leeway!”

“Right... Ye still owe me twenty-seven thirty.”

Admittedly, it was a bit funny to see Medic go off into a drunken rant. Demo had never pictured the doctor as the type of drunk to do that. What was even funnier was watching Medic exhale a loud sigh of aggravation as he slumped back down into his chair and begrudgingly fished out his wallet from his pocket.

“First you don't let me drive home, then you won't give me free booze...” he grumbled. He slammed the money onto the counter and shoved it towards Demoman. “Next you'll tell me Santa Claus isn't real.”

At this point, Demo couldn't tell if Medic was joking or not. “Erm...”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Demo quickly took back. He pushed the now-full beer glass towards his ally with a shake of his head. “Was just gonna say that you owe me some tip as well.”

“Tip?! I owe you tip, now?!”

“Yeah, Doc – that's usually what you give the people serving you. Unless you're one of the bastards that walks out without paying.” Medic looked about ready to say something about that, but Demo quickly butted in to ruin his plans. “Don't even think about it—you live with me, remember?”

The doctor looked ready to start up another angry rant, but instead settled for murmuring something particularly nasty sounding in German, and reopened his wallet. “I'll show you a tip...” he grumbled with a sneer, pushing the new sum of money over to his previous pile of bills. “Rob me for all I am worth...”

Demo just laughed and scooped up the greens on the counter, moving to file them into the cash register. “Thank ye, kindly, Doc,” he smiled cheerfully. Medic just scoffed in reply. More people started to sit down at the bar counter, staring at the bartender expectantly and waving their hands in the air to catch his attention. Nodding in their direction and holding up a finger to signal that he needed a minute, he turned to Medic once more. “I gotta go serve these people. Keep yourself occupied for a while, will you?”

“What am I supposed to do while you're gone?” Medic questioned back with a frown. “You're my only entertainment here.”

“Well, go find someone else here to entertain you!” Demo retorted. “This place is filled to the brim with shoddy delinquents just waiting to be taught a thing or two about how a body functions with two hearts. And you're just the man to tell 'em!”

“Ugh... fine...” Medic sighed. He got up begrudgingly and put on his coat with a huff. “You owe me.”

“For what?!”

“For deserting me.”

Demo couldn't stop himself from slapping his hand to his face. He didn't really even know what to say to his friend. Medic managed to become even more ridiculous and convoluted while intoxicated than he already was. “Oh quit your whining, and go!” He finally managed out. “You can come back when you've made a friend.” Medic murmured inaudibly again, giving one last pleading look towards his teammate. Finding no refuge in Demo's face, he turned around and started sauntering off. “And don't do anything stupid,” the bartender called after his retreating form.

“No promises,” he heard his voice reply from out the crowd.

“And for the love of everything that is good and holy, don't go stealing anyone's organs!!” Demoman watched his ally until he disappeared into the crowd before he turned to his new customers. He sighed, then made to grab a couple glasses. But then he noticed the look on their faces – one of confusion and concern, and a little bit of fear. At first, he had no idea what was bothering them so, but then he realized: they had heard what he had just called out. His face fell.

Demo cleared his throat to clear the tension, then put on the widest smile he could manage. “Pipe organs,” he elaborated on a whim. “He's got a weird fascination with the things. Likes to follow people who have 'em home and steal parts. Strange fellow, right? Heh heh... egh....”

 

It certainly wasn't quiet without the doctor at the bar, but the atmosphere was definitely a whole lot more empty and stress-free without having to constantly watch him. From behind the bar, Demo was able to watch Medic from afar. The physician had gotten himself acquainted with the loud-mouth group that had filled the night air with their loud, drunken arguments and shrilling laughter all night long. Each of the men were rather large in physique—easily measurable to Soldier or himself, and one or two even reaching Heavy's size—and it made Demo laugh at the thought that Medic seemed to have a type that he liked to associate himself with. He easily joined into their antics, his laughter a constant indicator that he hadn't yet passed out from alcohol consumption.

He seemed to be enjoying himself with his new 'friends'. Not once had Demoman caught him looking back towards the bar at him. And for once, he seemed to be behaving himself. The group had yet to shriek out in terror or throw him out, so Demo could only assume that they were enjoying his company just as well.

He didn't even notice when Medic had left the main area until much later. One moment, the doctor was telling the group about what sounded like his adventures at a morgue back in Stuttgart. Then Demo had to preoccupy himself with serving some particularly rude customers rather than trying to listen in over the crowd's volume to his friend's tale. It was only then that he noticed that the group of rowdy, drunk brutes was missing a certain intoxicated, cackling German.

Demo's first instinct was panic. Where had he gone? He hadn't left the bar and tried to walk home, had he? The Scot looked around the bar for his friend, for some indication that the man was still in the vicinity. But Medic wasn't anywhere to be found.

Demo couldn't leave his post to look for him. All he could do was watch the scene in front of him and listen in for that iconic maniacal cackle. The bartender grew increasingly concerned when he heard nothing but the boisterous crowd.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of looking for him, he spotted him. Medic walked out of the hall that led to the restrooms with his jacket scrunched up in his arms and his sleeves rolled up. His tie was strangely missing, Demo noted, but he was much too flooded in his feeling of relief to really consider that detail. He had just made a trip to the restroom, Demo realized. Nothing to be overreacting about.

Once he saw the doctor join back up with his group, Demo was able to pry his mind from the stressful situation and instead focus on the job at hand. Taking a buyer's money and waving him goodbye, he cast a glance to the other side of the bar at his friend. Honestly, he didn't know why he got himself so worked up like that. Medic could hold up on his own – he knew that. Everyone knew that. He supposed the idea of the doctor wandering around on his own in a place he wasn't completely familiar with whilst drunk off his arse was a bit unsettling. Demo could only imagine what sort of dumb antics Medic would try to accomplish in 'the name of science' that his booze-addled brain could come up with.

But no; nothing like that had happened. Demo was just thinking too much into the situation. Everything was alright. Medic probably just had some nausea and hot flashes from the alcohol that he needed to clear up; it was a common occurrence at the bar. One that Demo didn't need to get himself worked up over.

Nope. Everything was alright. The doctor hadn't gone and done anything stupid.

“What the hell did you do to Steve?!”

Though, Demo knew that he should be so lucky.

He didn't see what happened. And he couldn't make out the story through all the jumbled shouts and curses. All he knew was that Medic had responded with a rather lighthearted answer, and in the next second, someone shouted out, “You sick fuck!” and slammed his fist right into the doctor's face.

The sound of bony knuckles cracking against an equally bony jaw reverberated throughout the entire bar. The impact sent Medic stumbling to the ground, dropping his coat and empty beer glass in the process. With the shattering of the glass came the enthusiastic, drunken chants of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” from all around the room.

One of the larger men in the group pulled Medic up by his arms. The doctor struggled against his grasp, thrashing and kicking out as his attacker readied up another punch. And that was enough to make Demo realize that he had to step in before this turned ugly.

“Bloody hell!” he cursed through grit teeth as he lifted himself up and over the bar counter. Customers crowded around the potential fight, forcing Demo to push his way through. Once he reached the brawl, he saw that Medic had managed to break free of his captor's grasp (by means of bashing a beer glass onto the man's head and sinking his teeth into his arm, if Demo was to perceive the sight correctly), but another retaliated by decking the doctor in the nose. He stumbled back, one hand clutching at his now bleeding nose, the other stretched out in an attempt to steady himself. Seeing an opportunity, his attacker pulled him up by the collar of his shirt and smashed his forehead into his. Medic dropped like a sack of rocks, and Demo just barely managed to step in before another drunkard drove his boot into his chest.

“Alright, break it up, break it up!” he shouted over the crowd. He reached down to pick Medic up off the ground and away from any more harm. The doctor staggered as he stood, most of his weight being forced onto Demo as he tried to steady himself. He forced out a sound of disappointment, then pushed his crooked, probably cracked, glasses back up his nose.

“Awww... But this was just getting fun,” he murmured out, sounding more dazed than conscious. The blood seeping out of his nose gave his voice a nasally edge.

“He's right,” one of the brutes put in. With a smirk, he raised his fist and slammed it right into Medic's gut. The blow caused the doctor to suck in a low hiss of pain, and he crumpled in Demo's grasp. “We was just gettin' started.”

Even through all the agony Medic had to have been in, he still managed to laugh. He forced out dark chuckles through bloodied teeth and gasps of pain, not once wavering his gaze from his attackers. Some had the nerve to flinch under his gaze, others pretended not to notice.

But Demo had seen enough of this. “You lay a finger on this man again, and I'll throw your arses right out o' this bar, ye hear?” he threatened in his most intimidating tone. It seemed to do the trick for some; they slowly backed away, rubbing the back of their heads and avoiding eye contact with the Scot. Though, a few still stood their ground. “I dunnae know what stupid thing he did, but if you got any problems with him, you either keep it to yourself, or get the hell out.”

One of the brutes wiped his nose and snorted. “He's a goddamn psycho,” he growled out, eyes glaring at Medic. The physician only flashed a bloody grin.

“I know – I have to live with him,” Demo retorted. Before he could allow anyone else the pleasure of a response, he decided that this would be the proper time to make their exit. He began to turn away with Medic in tow. “C'mon, Doc. Let's get ye patched up.”

The doctor nonchalantly shrugged out of his grip for a second to pick up his jacket from the ground and to smile and wave his group of 'friends' goodbye. Once he caught up with Demo, the Scotsman rolled his eye and put his hand on the man's back to usher him out of the main area.

“I could have taken them,” Medic chided. Demoman allowed him to take his seat back at the bar counter, and moved to locate the first-aid kit.

“Really. Where I was standing, it looked like you were getting your arse handed to you,” he snarked back. He placed the first-aid kit in front of Medic and began to wipe the blood from his face with a towelette.

“Minor details. I had it under control. Do you happen to have a mirror?” Medic began rummaging through the kit for supplies to fix himself up, idly swatting Demo's hands away from his face.

“No,” Spotting some excess blood dripping down Medic's chin from the corner of his mouth, Demo lightly tugged away at his arm to allow him to wipe it clean. He managed a smile at his clean up job, despite Medic's apparent opposition of his hands being anywhere near him. “There, you're pretty as a picture again. Now what in the hell did you do?”

A pause – Medic took his time thinking up an answer, pretending to be too focused on fixing his split lip to reply. He glanced away as he answered. “I insulted one of the men's mothers.”

“I don't believe you, Doc.”

“Fine then.” Medic's frown deepened into an almost comical expression. He winced, as the action widened his split lip. “I insulted a lot of their mothers.”

His palm instinctively went up to his face. Demo couldn't even manage a head-shake. “That's a load of horseshit, Doc. What really happened?”

“Well...” Medic seemed to patch himself up pretty quick. He closed the lid of the kit, idly shoving it in Demo's direction. A giggle escaped him. “That's for me to know, and you to... not know.” Another, louder laugh. The tone was taunting. “Not until tomorrow, anyway. Now get me another beer.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.” Medic raised a finger in the air and opened his mouth, a determined look on his face. “And don't give me the 'I deserve it' rant again.”

The doctor visibly deflated. His head drooped low until his chin almost touched his chest. He gave Demo a longing glance. From behind the shining, cracked glasses, the bartender could spot Medic's best attempt at puppy-dog eyes. “Get me a drink, bitte? It helps me deal with the pain.”

It was a lie right through shining teeth. Medic didn't care about pain, especially nothing as small as a busted up face. Hell, half of the team was convinced that the German got off on pain, whether it be his own or someone else's. It was just a poor, drunken attempt to get his hands on more booze, not in the least bit honorable or dignified.

And that's why Demoman sighed and obliged his request. Against all his better judgement, he believed that another drink would hopefully subdue him, and maybe loosen his lips about the previous situation.

 

“Tavish.... I need another beer...”

Demo didn't move his head to face him. He just glared at him with his one eye. “No, you don't.”

Medic grumbled out some muffled response. From the way he had buried his head into his arms on the counter, his words sounded all the more jumbled. He raised his head up just a little bit, looking more shitfaced than Demo had ever seen him before. “But... but I can pay...”

“Ye ran out of money three drinks ago.”

“Oh... then how...?”

“I've been paying for them.”

He seemed surprised at that fact, despite having known it already. “Oh, thank you. Then perhaps you wouldn't mind paying for just one more?”

“You don't need any more, Doc.”

Even in his drunken stupor, Medic managed to look offended. “As a customer, I demand one more!”

“And as your teammate, I'm saying you've had enough.” Demo snatched away the empty glasses in front of Medic and began to clean them before he could make a fuss. “Now get ready. Once I'm done here, I'm clocking out.”

A sigh of aggravation escaped the doctor. He slumped his head back down into his arms and cursed some indistinguishable thing out.

Surprisingly, the rest of the night went without a hitch. The brutes, either intimidated by Demo's threats or simply too bushed to put up any more of a fight, had split up. Some left the bar, others conked out at the table they occupied. The bartender tried not to make any eye contact with any of the men, but if such a thing occurred, he made sure to give the most fearsome look he could muster.

Demo made sure to keep an eye on Medic at all times. If he caught the doctor glancing back at his attackers, he immediately made to distract him, either by striking up a conversation or getting him another drink. Either way, Medic wasn't allowed to leave the counter for any reason, no matter what excuse he gave.

He stayed in his resting position on the counter until Demo had finished up his shift and ushered him to move. Begrudgingly, Medic got up from his seat, carrying his bunched up jacket in his arms like a newborn baby. The two exited the bar, Demo having to guide Medic on a straight path towards his car. The doctor spared a longing glance to his catering van parked haphazardly in the corner of the lot, then looked back to Demo. “What are we going to do about my car?” he questioned, a resounding sadness in his voice.

“We'll come back and pick it up tomorrow, when you're not piss drunk,” the Scot answered. “Hopefully it won't be towed.”

“Towed?! Then we have to come early!”

“It ain't happening until after noon, Doc. I got work in the morning.”

Demo opened up the passenger's side door for Medic, then helped him situate himself inside. Before he could close the door, the physician asked, “Another job? How many do you have?”

“Three.”

He closed the passenger door, then maneuvered over to the driver's seat. In minutes, they were on the road. Every now and then, as he drove, Demo would sneak a glance in Medic's direction. He looked exhausted, susceptible to falling asleep right in his seat. Bruises earned from the fight previous were darkening to vibrant shades. If it weren't for the relieving presence of the medigun back at the base, Demo would have been worried about the state of his friend's face.

Medic kept an iron grip on his bunched up jacket. Despite the chilling temperature of the night air, he hadn't made any effort to put it on. The lack of action alone made Demo suspicious, but Medic didn't look in any shape to answer truthfully to anything he might ask.

The car rolled to a halt at a fork in the road. On one path, the base lied at the end of a long, drawn out, barren road. On the other was a collection of houses that contained some of the high-end residents of Tuefort, including Demo's own home. He thought for a moment about what to do next. His conversation with Medic when he was most conscious suggested that the doctor had no desire to be around any of his teammates, and the exhausted look on his face only confirmed Demo's belief. Scout's yelling and Sniper's arguing with Spy would not be kind on the doctor's inevitable hangover.

So Demo turned left and continued down the road. Medic peered up immediately at the choice. “Where are we going?”

“I'm taking you back to my place,” the driver answered. “It'll be easier for you to recover there. A lot more quiet. Plus, me house is closer to your car.”

“Oh... Well, that's convenient and all, but I have to feed my birds.”

Frankly, Demo was shocked that his thoughts were collected enough to recall his pets. Then again, that just showed how much Medic cared for them.

“I'll call Heavy and tell him to do it,” Demo assured. One look at the doctor's apparent pout told him that he wasn't convinced. “You need some rest, Doc. I figured you could use a morning away from everyone. And I'm sure Porkpie will be more than happy to take care of your pigeons while you're gone.”

“Doves,” the German corrected. He took long, slow blinks, taking his time in processing what he was being told. Finally, he nodded. “Alright, fine,” he sighed after his pause. “Your house better be nice.”

“Nice? Of course it's nice – it's a bloody mansion.”

That perked Medic right out of his drunken exhaustion. “You have a mansion?!”

“Of course. It's one of the perks of working a bunch of jobs and getting five million a year.”

“You're rich?!”

“Aye, Doc. You are, too. Or, you would be, if you didn't spend all of it on animal parts...”

Medic sat up straight in his seat, looking almost ready to start bouncing in excitement. He gave a chuckle, his gray-blue eyes electrified with a new found exhilaration. “Ooh-ho-ho, Tavish, you just became my new favorite person! Now hurry! I must see your mansion!”

The comment surprised him. Demo was sure that it was just one of the doctor's light-hearted jokes, just a random comment he made in his drunken stupor. And yet he found himself smiling and blushing. Thankfully, Medic was too focused on the road ahead to see the look on his face.

Nevertheless, Demo continued down the road until he reached his neighborhood. Medic watched through the window in wonder at all the large, fancy houses that seemed to put the local Teufort homes (not to mention, their own home base) to shame. Along the way, he made an effort to point out all the little quirks of the neighborhood that marveled him. The pretty lawns, the variety of cars, the lack of garbage; everything seemed to enamor the doctor. And he was even more impressed when they finally reached Demo's own abode.

“This is your mansion?!” Medic just about squealed. In a matter of seconds, he hopped out of the car, jacket in hand, and began to explore the open field. Demo hurriedly stopped the car and followed suit, having to run to catch up with his friend. By the time he reached him, Medic was inspecting the fountain outside the entrance. “Ooooh, I like your decor!” He chuckled. “Are all your statues headless?”

The Scotsman glanced up to the decapitated figure in the fountain, still spouting a stream of water because of his escapade with a possessed sword. “Heh, no,” he answered, his hand scratching the back of his head as he recalled the event.

By the time he answered, Medic had already moved his attention to other sights in the courtyard. The cliffside seemed to catch his eye. Sauntering over, he stood among the plateau, taking in the sight. “Such an amazing view,” he mused. Quirking the corner of his lip, he turned to face his friend. “Such a difference from our little patch of heaven, isn't it?”

The joke caused an uproar of laughter from Demo. The landscape before them, pretty as a picture and worth a hell of a lot more, put their rusty, decrepit, always-falling-apart base to shame. “That doesn't even begin to describe it, Doc,” he managed in between guffaws.

Medic laughed along with him, and the quiet night air was shattered by their boisterous voices. Demo was thankful that he managed to live a ways away from the neighborhood, otherwise, he would have worried about waking his neighbors. No such thing occurred, and their laughter continued until they finally had to try and breathe right again.

He watched the doctor move onto other sights his home had to offer. Medic seemed to admire the architecture, particularly the streams of water falling from the roof in a continuous cycle. Demo watched with adoration as the German put his hand through the waterfall like it was some magical portal, and almost started cracking up again when he lost his balance and almost fell into the creek.

It was rather late, Demo realized. He was having the time of his life just watching Medic flit around in his yard, amazed by seemingly everything. But he had about reached his limit of work, and now a good night's rest seemed like the most pleasant thing imaginable. Lord knew the Medic would need some rest after such a night.

The Scot turned to the doctor and put his hand on his shoulder. “How about we get you inside?” he suggested. The desert night air was chilling to the bone. Demo himself was starting to shiver, but Medic, filled with the warmth of booze and an overwhelming sense of adrenaline, didn't seem to mind. Nonetheless, he smiled and nodded.

“That sounds terrific,” he replied.

Demo carefully guided him over to the entrance to his home and unlocked the door. Once inside, Medic was quick to take in his surroundings, and point out every teeny, tiny thing that caught his eyes. Which turned out to be quite a lot of things, from the fine art to the rather neat and tidy state the living room was in. Demo at one point had to quiet the doctor down, for fear that his loud, drunken commentary would wake up his mum. To that, Medic just chucked and joked that they were in 'Spy Mode'.

He had a lot of energy for an old man; a drunk one, at that. But that energy was used up with time, and soon it was apparent that Medic was beginning to crash. He stepped heavily through the doorway, hand outstretched to grasp the arch in order to keep himself from toppling over. His other hand, now free from his jacket having left it on the couch, reached up to push his glasses up his face and rub his tired eyes.

“You alright, Doc?” Demo ventured to ask. He put a hand on the man's shoulder, trying to calm him. One look at Medic's face revealed him to be sweating. The doctor let out heavy, shuddering breaths, trying to keep something down. He managed a glance at his friend.

“I think I need to throw up,” he murmured out. His voice took a rather sudden turn to the sickly tone, and in the pale light coming in through the windows, Demo could see the green tint in his face.

“Oh, uh.. I'll get you to the loo,” the Scot replied. Demo wrapped one of Medic's arms around his neck and hoisted him upright, leading him to the bathroom. Once he was sure that the doctor was situated, he closed the door between them and allowed Medic to do his business in private. In mere minutes, he heard the sound of retching from the other side of the door.

His sickness lasted for at least ten minutes. The doctor was taking his time clearing himself up, but never said a word throughout. After a while, the retching stopped, and Demo could hear the flushing of the toilet.

Demo breathed a sigh of relief, content that Medic had cleared up his illness relatively quickly. Just to make sure the doctor was semi-conscious inside, the Scot knocked on the door.

“You gonna live?” he questioned as a joke.

“I think so,” was his response.

“Good. Um, there should be a spare toothbrush and paste in the medicine cabinet.”

“Oh, okay.” There was some rustling, and a rather loud clatter that sent Demo wincing at the noise. “Found it!”

Silently waiting for his friend to finish up, Demo couldn't help but wonder if their ruckus had awoken his mum. She was a light sleeper, he had learned over the years, but she was also accustomed to him coming home in the wee hours of the morning and flipping on the television. So far, Demo hadn't heard the sound of a cane bumping and sliding along the wooden floors, so he could only assume they were fine.

“Oh, Tavish!” The bathroom door opened suddenly, and Medic poked his head out with his new toothbrush sticking out his mouth. “Be a dear friend and go get my jacket for me, would you kindly?”

“Uh... Sure.” Demo began to walk back to the den where the physician had left his coat, wondering what he could possibly need it for, when he heard Medic call out after him:

“Also, don't look at what is in my jacket!”

The Scot halted in his tracks just as he reached to pick up the coat. He had a feeling that Medic had been hiding something inside ever since the fight, but he didn't dare ask what it might have been. And now the coat was here, away from Medic's grasp and out in the open for Demo to examine. He cringed as he picked up the article of clothing, immediately noticing the extra weight accompanying it. What Medic could have possibly hauled away from the bar was concerning, to say the least.

With a deep breath, Demo ignored Medic's commands and unraveled the jacket to reveal what was inside. The object was squishy and warm, he immediately noticed. Dripping blood, haphazardly wrapped in cheap toilet paper. He picked up the strong scent of alcohol, probably poured on to mask the smell of blood. With all the surgeries he had been through, Demo knew exactly what it was that he held in his hands. And yet, as he briskly walked back down the hall, coat in tow, he found himself questioning: “Doc, this better not be what I think it is.”

Behind the door, he heard rushing water from the faucet, and then a loud sigh. “I told you not to look!” Medic poked his head out again, his scowl apparent on his flushed, bruised face. “You ruined the surprise!”

“Surprise?”

Medic snatched the jacket from his arms, pulling the wrapped up organ from it. Discarding the coat on the floor, he began to pick off the sopping wet paper. “Yes! It was going to be a gift. You were due for a new liver.”

“Doc, I—where'd you even get this?”

“From the kind man who I got to show me to the restroom,” Medic answered. He held the unraveled liver in his hands, a gleaming smile creeping up on his face. “He had a very nice liver; I could tell by the way he handled his alcohol.”

So he had done something in his long absence. Demo slapped a hand to his face, now realizing how much of a mistake it was to leave a drunken Medic unattended for so long. “Doc... you can't just go around, stealing peoples' livers...”

The doctor moved back to the sink. Flipping the faucet back on, he began to wash his organ clean. “Oh please, I do it all the time,” he denounced without looking back at Demo. “Although, I usually take hearts and kidneys. Maybe a uterus, if I can find one.”

“That doesn't matter doc. You did exactly what I told you not to do!” Now Demo's own volume was rising, and he found himself clasping his mouth tightly shut and glancing around to make sure he hadn't awoken a certain someone. Seeing nothing, he let out a breath and lowered his voice to a whisper. “We can't keep this.”

“Well, it's not like we can give it back. The man's probably gone by now.”

There came the volume again. “You killed him?!”

Medic shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Nein, nein. If his friend found him, then he's probably got a day or two left. Assuming the meatheads got him to the Crying Hospital.”

Leaning his weight against the door frame, Demo heaved a sigh. He couldn't believe it. In reality, it shouldn't have come as a surprise. Medic was prone to doing things like this. But normally, he was alone in his antics. He normally didn't have anyone around who claimed responsibility for his actions. On random nights, he would come back to the base with a plethora of spare organs to fill the fridge with. And nobody would question where he had gotten them from. Most were afraid to ask. They could only assume that he just performed some back-alley surgeries (Demo couldn't believe that they actually had to come up with that term) to whatever poor sod that the Medic set his eyes on.

And yet, here they were. Demo really should have known better than to allow Medic to be on his own, especially while drunk as a skunk. He was dangerous on his own, even more so when intoxicated. Demo closed his eye, trying to fight the growing sense of dread burning deep in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, Lord help me...”

The water shut off, and Medic finished off cleaning the liver by patting it dry with a few paper towels. “Oh, don't be so melancholy. He's probably fine, for now!” he tried to reassure the Scot. It did little to help his feeling of guilt. “If it's any consolation, I did all I could to patch him back up. Why, I used the rest of my floss to sew his laceration shut. And I'm sure the alcohol is doing wonders for his pain receptors. Not to mention, my tie made an excellent gag--” He suddenly gasped. “My tie!!”

His outburst brought Demo out of his stupor. “What?”

“Scheiße, I forgot to take back my tie!” Medic ran his soaked fingers through his hair, yanking at it in distress. His eyes flitted over to Demo's, wide and desperate. “We have to go back!”

It was his turn to run a hand through his hair. Demo sighed and shook his head. “Doc, you said it yourself: the lad's probably long gone by now. We'll never find him at this hour.”

“But--”

“I'll buy you a new one,” Demo interrupted. “I'm not going back out again for a bloody tie.”

Medic growled something out, but ultimately ended up drooping his head and shoulders in defeat. More German curses spilled from his mouth. “Wunderbar. Now some arschloch is strutting around with my tie...”

Demo clapped his hand on the German's shoulder. “And you're strutting around with his liver. I think that's a pretty fair trade. Now what say we call it a night?”

“But I have to store my liver!”

“Ack, fine! We'll pitch the thing, and then we'll call it a night, alright?”

“Fine. Where do you keep your plastic wrap?”

“In the kitchen.”

Medic began to saunter over in the direction of the kitchen, stumbling around as a drunkard would, before he fell back on Demo's guidance. Once there, Demo pulled open a drawer and extracted the plastic wrap Medic requested. The doctor took it with a nod, taking a seat on the other side of the counter. In seconds, he had successfully wrapped the liver up.

“That should do,” he muttered. Pushing the organ forward, he laid his head in his folded arms. “Put it in the fridge for me, bitte?”

“What?! No!” Demo exclaimed back. “I ain't putting that thing in there – that's disgusting!”

“Yes, and it'll be even more disgusting when it's rotting at room temperature.”

“Doc, I dunnae want me mum finding a feckin' human liver inside our fridge.”

“Then put it where she won't find it,” Medic replied dismissively. “Besides, didn't you once say that your mother is blind?”

Another random fact that Medic surprised Demo in remembering. He had to say, he was a bit impressed. “Well, yes, but...”

“Then just keep her from reaching back there, and I'll take it out in the morning. Nothing to worry about.”

A grimace spread across Demo's face. He tried not imagine what his mum would say if she came across the organ. Perhaps she would think it was an animal's organ and not a person's? Then again, she was blind, not stupid. The Scot found himself silently praying to the high heavens that such a thing wouldn't occur.

He gave a stern warning glance in Medic's direction. “I swear, if me mum finds this...” He reluctantly opened the fridge, looking for the most inconspicuous corner to push the thing into. Medic barely even raised his eyes to watch his ally.

“You worry too much. It'll be fine, you big baby,” he debated.

Demo ended up shoving the liver in the far corner of a drawer he and his mum seldom used. Heaving a shuddering breath, he closed the fridge as quietly as he could, and turned back. “We're never doing this again,” he announced.

“Awww... but it was so fun,” Medic replied. The explosives expert chuckled a bit at his disappointed tone.

“Ack, maybe. But I could do without the bar fights and organ stealing.”

“Stick in the mud.”

Demo made a face at the remark, but didn't put up an argument as he walked back over to Medic's side. He patted the doctor's back softly, stirring him from his attempted slumber. “Time for bed,” he said. The physician only moved his head around in his arms to face him.

“I can't feel my legs anymore,” he murmured back.

“What, is that code for you want me to carry you?”

A soft nod. Medic closed his eyes in bliss, already almost asleep at the counter. “That would be lovely.”

Well, Demo wouldn't say no to an opportunity like that. Smiling, he reached under Medic's legs and back, hefting him up in his arms. The doctor was lighter than Demo had expected; a lot of muscle mass, making him heavier, but a relatively easy lift. Medic laid his weight against Demo's chest without a care, making no effort to fight being lifted up.

“I should get you drunk more often,” Demo mused as he walked down the hall to the spare bedroom. “You never let anyone pick you up.”

It was a common occurrence. Someone on the team, usually Soldier or Pyro, picked the doctor up in a tight hug or a fireman's carry during or after a battle. And it was quickly learned by the entire team that the doctor apparently didn't care for being touched in any way. Every time someone made the mistake of hugging him, he usually pushed the offender away, yelling obscenities as he stormed off. Demo, being a bit of a personal space invader, himself, was victim to Medic's rants on a number of occasions. So this felt like a very tremendous moment.

Medic chuckled once, pushing his glasses up with his knuckle. “Don't get used to it.”

Well, Demo supposed he wasn't lucky enough to receive special 'lifting privileges'. But he'd take what he could get without complaint.

He nudged the door to the guest bedroom open with his foot, then carefully put the physician down on the bed. Already, he missed his warmth, the way Medic curled up so pleasantly in his hold. Pushing those thoughts away, he turned to his guest. “Well, is me place everything you expected?”

“And more,” Medic sighed out. He sank into the mattress, relishing in the softness of the plush pillows and sheets. His eyes were already shut, completely neglecting the fact that he still had his glasses on.

“Well, I'm glad to hear that,” Demo replied. He scratched the back of his head, and looked away nervously. How exactly could he end this conversation? “I, uh... I think I'll be off, then. Unless you need something.”

“Yes, actually.” Medic leaned on his side to face him, fingers caressing the pillow supporting his head. “Could you get me a glass of water?”

“Sure thing.”

Giving a small wave, he began to walk away. But just before he stepped out the door, Medic's voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh, and Tavish?”

“Aye?” The demolitions expert turned back.

He didn't know why Medic still called him by his name. At the bar, in public, it was expected, as the civilians of Tuefort didn't particularly take kindly to the mercenaries. But now they were far away from the town, away from anyone who could hear or judge them. Demo knew his mum didn't care if someone called him by his title – a demoman was who he was, who his family was. Being called on by his title was an honor in his household. The fact that Medic insisted on calling him Tavish was baffling. Demo unconsciously began to wonder what the doctor's real name was.

Medic laid on his side, staring at him intently. His tired, glossy eyes held something of reluctance in them, and he took a bit of a long pause before he spoke again.

“...Thank you... For putting up with me,” he finally breathed out. His voice was somber, quiet. Unsure, even. Almost as if he wasn't keen on saying the words, but felt as if he needed to.

“Well, of course,” Demo replied as chipper as he could manage. He really wasn't expecting such a statement to come out of the doctor's mouth, let alone while he was drunk. But perhaps, that's what had brought it out. Still, the Scot found it difficult to reply. “You're a right pain in the arse sometimes, but I wouldn't have you any other way.”

He meant it. From the bottom of his uber-enhanced heart, he meant it. The bastard was a nightmare. Medic could manage to be the living embodiment of the devil at times, but he could also be the swellest man Demo ever had the pleasure of knowing. He made the Scot fear sleeping with his eye closed, and yet, still made him enjoy the endless stress of their job. Demo wondered if he would be able to one day tell him that. Perhaps another time when he got the doctor drunk again to the point where he couldn't even recall the previous night, or perhaps when he was drunk enough and no one would take his words seriously.

Medic smiled contently, closing his eyes and resting back on the bed with ease. He hummed in acknowledgment of his words, and then laughed, but said nothing more. Demo took it as his cue to leave.

He stepped out of the room and left to do his task. Away from his friend, he let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding in, in relief. He filled up a glass of water at the sink, trying to push all of his thoughts away. They all kept coming, though. Each and every one, reminding him just how much he cared for the man taking residence in his guest bedroom. In a bout of consideration, he took out a couple aspirin from a bottle to accompany the beverage. The headache Medic would undoubtedly have tomorrow would be a nightmare to deal with, so Demo decided to help him out in any way he could. Gathering his materials, he trailed back to the guest room.

But when he opened the door, he found Medic completely passed out on the bed. Demo could tell by the light snores that filled the night air, not to mention the lack of response to his arrival, that he was out cold. He frowned – the doctor had fallen asleep in all of his clothes, glasses included. Sighing heavily, Demo placed the water and pills on the nightstand next to the bed. He plucked Medic's glasses from his face, setting them aside by the other items. He also took off the doctor's vest and boots, placing them, as well as his coat, by the foot of the bed.

The explosives expert carefully propped Medic's head up with the pillows and gingerly pulled the covers over him. He placed a bucket by the bed's side, should the doctor wake up and feel the need to puke again. Once finished with prepping the doctor for a long night's rest, he stood back to watch his friend.

He was so peaceful when he slept. His chest rose and fell under the covers rhythmically. Light snores escaped him every so often, along with the occasional, indistinguishable murmur. He was out like a light; the alcohol had done a number him, exhausting him.

Such a stressful night led to such a pleasant ending. Demo didn't mind at all having Medic spend the night at his house. In fact, looking back on the entire journey here, Demo knew that, in time, he'd look back at the experience with an utmost fondness. Perhaps Medic would, too, assuming he'd remember it.

Demo sighed blissfully down at Medic's snoozing form. He walked back to his side, taking in his image in full. The doctor seemed so much softer without his glasses; less threatening, a little bit younger, too. Such a contrast to his usual, intimidating figure. He loved both visages, Demo realized. That dangerous, battle hardened, slightly batshit insane glare of the bespectacled medical warrior, and the peaceful, serene, and amicable look of the loyal teammate and friend. Two sides of the same ridiculous coin.

He found himself brushing the loose strands of hair away from Medic's face and planting a light kiss onto his forehead. An action that would probably mean the death of him, if the doctor was conscious, but was otherwise harmless. In his sleep, Medic's lips seemed to quirk the slightest bit upward at the touch.

Demo turned the light atop of the nightstand off, and walked out of the room. Before he left, he turned to Medic once more. “Sleep tight, ye old coot,” he said. He yawned, then closed the door behind him, heading to bed to finish this rather ludicrous night off with a good night's rest.


End file.
